


divine, untouched (so that i might partake thy flesh)

by Anonymous



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, No Pregnancy, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest, Smoking, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They have always been close, but now a small request from Eloise might change her relationship with Benedict in ways she could have never predicted.Will he deny her? Or will he show her pleasure that no brother should give their sister?
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Eloise Bridgerton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77
Collections: Anonymous





	divine, untouched (so that i might partake thy flesh)

* * *

They have always been close.

But never are they closer than times like these.

Every part of their bodies entwined.

Her dainty fingers, bare without the lace of her gloves, clutching at his own calloused hand, pressed hard against the wall beside her head. His other hand holding her thigh in a steady grip, her stockinged leg wrapped around his waist.

Their lips meeting again and again, kisses all teeth and tongue and terrible.

For this is her brother’s mouth upon her. Her brother’s mouth that trails hot kisses down the side of her neck, that sucks a delicate bruise above her collarbone. That draws from her mouth, the sweetest, most desperate of moans.

“Benedict.”

Eloise knows she should be quiet. Should smother her moans into the fabric of his shirt or the palm of her hand. Knows the dangerous game they play at but cannot contain herself all the same.

She loves the feel of Benedict’s velvet hot length inside her, touching places no man has ever been with each thrust. Bringing her closer and closer towards that wonderful peak she has only ever known with him.

They have always been close, and it has ruined her, for none shall ever compare to her darling Benedict.

* * *

It begins so innocently, she supposes.

Tendrils of smoke curl upwards in the glow of the moonlight, a silence has settled through which the outside world cannot trespass. Despite the light weakly streaming from the windows in the distance it feels otherworldly in the garden. As though only they exist. As though time and reality have yet to pierce the silvery veil hanging over them.

Her fingers brush against his, again and again, as they pass the burning cigarette back and forth. An indirect kiss, passing from his lips to her own.

She wonders what it would be like to know such a thing directly.

“Benedict,” she begins, tentative, unsure of how he will react to her request.

“Yes, Eloise.”

“Do you think, perhaps, that,” she pauses to look at him, his beautiful profile bathed in the eerie light of the moon, “that I, that we…” She trails off, the flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks. She hopes the darkness hides it.

Benedict turns to her then, sensing the seriousness of whatever it is she’s trying to say. “We…?” He prompts with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

Perhaps it is better to not look at him.

Eloise closes her eyes, trepidation creasing their corners and takes a fortifying breath before blurting out, rather inelegantly, her enquiry. “Do you think that we may practice kissing?”

Unfortunately, he has chosen this moment to inhale.

“Eloise!” he exclaims as he tries not to choke on a lungful of smoke. “That is entirely inappropriate.”

Benedict rises from the swing so abruptly Eloise flinches.

The cigarette falls from his grip and he stamps it out with perhaps a little too much force. Eloise watches the little embers die beneath the heel of his boot and cannot help but feel crushed just the same.

He turns towards her and immediately turns away, sputtering nonsense about how inadvisable such a thing would be.

Unexpectedly, her eyes sting with something that may just be humiliation.

“Benedict, please.” She looks up at him now, trying to catch his gaze which seems determinedly fixed upon one of the house’s upper windows. “Just forget I said anything. I only wanted to know what it feels like. Please just ignore me, I was being silly.” Now she realises just how stupid a request it was. Whatever was she thinking? Benedict is her _brother_. “I only asked because I trust you not to make a fool of me.”

A tear treacherously escapes past her lashes and slips down the curve of her cheek. “Please forget it.” And there’s a hitch in her voice that has him turning towards her, a complicated expression she’s never seen on her older brother’s face before.

“Oh, El,” he whispers, kneeling before her to wipe away her tears. She turns her head into the warmth of his hand. “I…” he trails off, searching her eyes for something – though she isn’t sure what. He gives a quick glance over his shoulder, back towards the house and its ever-watching windows. And when he turns again to gaze at her, his eyes drop for the quickest of moments to her lips.

Her heart begins to race.

“Just this once, Eloise.” His eyes plead with her to understand.

She nods. “Just this once.”

Benedict closes the distance between them until she is forced to shut her eyes, can feel his gentle exhale against her lips, the way his thumb stokes the corner of her mouth as though she is the most fragile porcelain which he might break if careless. Eloise thinks she wouldn’t mind being shattered by him.

Benedict kisses her. Soft and sure where she is not.

It is perfect.

It is over almost immediately, Benedict pulling away as swiftly as he had come.

A little unhappy whimper fills the air and it takes a moment for Eloise to realise that _she_ is the one making the sound. Her eyes flick open to find Benedict already looking at her. Something heady comes over her, her chest tightens and her lips tingle. Between them simmers a heat that she will soon be able to put a name to – _lust_.

The tiniest of embers can spark the mightiest of flames.

Want blazes in Benedict’s eyes, surely a reflection of her own desires. She’s done no more than draw in a shaky little breath before his lips are crashing onto her own once again.

The tenderness of their first kiss has vanished in the flames of their longing, their curiosity for each other. His hand slides from her cheek, finding purchase in her hair to tilt her head _just so_. Benedict deepens the kiss, lips meeting her own with a hunger yet to be satisfied.

Eloise winds her arms around his neck, fingers twining in his hair as though somehow that will be the thing that holds her steady, as if her world isn’t crashing down around her and being rebuilt at the same time.

Benedict sucks at her bottom lip and Eloise cannot hold back the little moan that falls unbidden from her lips. Her brother takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Tentatively she reaches out with her own and the fire burning between them spreads.

Eloise pushes forward, barely on the edge of the swing now. Benedict’s hand tightens in her hair and his other slides to her waist, steadying her. She licks into his mouth and nips at him as though she’s been doing this for years and not mere minutes.

Benedict groans against her mouth and a new sensation blooms in her abdomen, extending downwards and she has never felt like this before. Eloise tingles and itches, burning in a way that she has yet to learn how to soothe. Surely Benedict will show her.

They kiss for what feels like an eternity in the quiet of the garden. Unable to part, for how could something so wrong and shameful be so delicious, so addictive. How could their love be a crime when it feels so _right_?

Eloise never wants to stop. Never wants to kiss anyone except Benedict.

A horse whinnies into the night nearby and the spell between them is broken.

The Bridgerton siblings pull apart and reality crashes down upon them, a wave of shame and confusion that dulls the raging fire of their lust.

Slowly, Eloise sits back on the swing, hands slipping from where they had become pressed against Benedict’s chest, settling in her lap and twisting together.

Benedict pulls away from her entirely, unsteady in his haste to stand. Neither of them can quite control how their heaving breaths seem to echo across the garden, seeming loud enough to alert anyone nearby that they have just engaged in something _most_ improper.

Eloise, licks her kiss swollen lips, opens her mouth to say something but finds nothing will come out. Almost as though Benedict has managed to kiss her senseless – has stilled her racing mind – if only for a short while.

“Right.” Benedict says, refusing to look at her, half turned towards the house, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. “Goodnight.” And then he’s striding resolutely towards the house without a glance back.

Eloise lifts a hand to press against her mouth, shaking fingers hiding a barely-there upturn at the corner of her lips.

So _that_ is a kiss.

Now that Eloise has known a hint of pleasure, she cannot deny that she craves more.

Her heart aches at the knowledge that it will not be Benedict who gives it to her. Her heart, as it turns out, is mistaken.

* * *

As with all forbidden things, the temptation to indulge is irresistible.

 _Just this once_. Words uttered with such certainty at the time have faded into memory. It was a flimsy promise; after all, how could they be expected to keep it, knowing now how it feels when they join together.

It will never be just once between them.

They have always been close, despite the decade between them.

Nobody bats an eye at their affectionate touches, the gentle brush of fingers in the hall, an arm slung around his waist, the reassuring squeeze of her shoulder when he passes by. It is expected. Which makes it feel all the more precarious now. Eloise feels hyper aware whenever Benedict is in the room with her.

She can no longer resist the urge to stay away.

Nor can he.

They steal kisses in empty halls and shadow-lined doorways.

His lips trailing a path down her neck to the edge of her collar. Sometimes, if she’s lucky, Benedict will pull back the frills and bows to suck tiny bruises into her skin. She cherishes the way they linger long after his mouth has left her skin.

Still, she wants more.

 _Oh,_ how she wants.

She tells Benedict as much. Perhaps once he would have denied her, but now he can only indulge the whims of his most precious sister.

They are always so careful not to be caught.

Days pass without Eloise knowing the softness of his lips as they caress her own, the weight of his hands as he runs them over her clothed body.

And then one of them will break, unable to resist.

* * *

Benedict gives Eloise her fist orgasm on a Tuesday afternoon, not that it’s a particularly noteworthy day. Their siblings are busy, the staff invisible, their mother absent. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet. She will never forget it.

She’s lounging on the chaise in her bedroom, reading in the glow of the afternoon sun when he appears in the doorway.

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” she replies, setting down her book on a nearby side table.

Benedict closes the door behind him. Locks it.

A little thrill shoots through her and she sits up straighter as he crosses the room towards her.

“I thought we could practice something new today.” He says, sitting down with a confidence that is betrayed by the flush spreading across his cheeks.

“New?” she asks incredulously. “There’s more we can do than kissing?”

Benedict gives an amused little huff as he moves to face her on the chaise. “Yes, Eloise.” He shifts closer, hand coming to rest indecently high on her thigh. “Perhaps,” he says, tracing little circles with his thumb on her leg – quite distracting, really – before his heavy gaze meets her own, “I could show you where else I might like to kiss my dearest sister.”

Eloise’s eyebrows draw together. An adorable image of confusion. Benedict chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead, smoothing away the lines that have gathered.

Featherlight kisses down the bridge of her nose make Eloise giggle and she eagerly tilts her head up to find his mouth. They meet with a flurry of little pecks, eventually pulling away to stare at one another.

“Would you have me kiss you, sister?” Benedict asks.

“If it pleases you,” she replies with an affected air. She wants to please _him_.

“It may be on this occasion that it pleases you more.”

“Well, go on then.”

The humour between them ebbs away into something deeper, heavier, a waiting desire.

Benedict doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, to lick into her mouth in the way he knows will elicit a moan.

Eloise eventually pulls away, flushed and breathless. Benedict takes this opportunity to trail a series of hot, wet kisses down her throat to the lacey edge of her neckline.

“Do you trust me?” Benedict murmurs against her delicate skin.

Heart racing, Eloise nods, manages something that sounds like a ‘yes’ and watches as her brother shifts off the chaise to kneel before her.

She holds her breath as he reaches down to slide a hand beneath her skirts, slowly tracing a path up her pale silk stockings to her knee. Gives a little squeeze.

Her heart feels as though it is trying to escape her chest.

“Benedict,” her curiosity wars with her nerves, “how might this be related to kissing?”

“Patience, Eloise,” he chides. “We’re getting there.”

“Right. Of course.” She does trust him. Surely Benedict has the experience to know what he’s doing. What he will do _to_ her. “Proceed.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, always so amused by her reactions. His left hand finds its way to her other knee, drawing little circles with his thumb against her kneecap. She supposes he means it as a soothing gesture. It only heightens her excitement.

“Spread your legs,” he commands.

She does.

“Wider.”

His hands trace a heavy path up her thighs, pushing them further apart as he goes. He pauses to toy with the edges of her stockings.

Though she’s trying to appear unaffected, there’s no denying the way her chest heaves in anticipation, nor the warmth she feels at the apex of her thighs, so close to where Benedict’s hands now rest.

She’s not expecting the gentle swipe of his thumb against her most secret spot. Gasps his name in response.

“Benedict…I…what…” Eloise struggles to form a sentence, to ask the man before her what he’s doing.

There’s an odd sort of tingling where he touches, she wishes for it to be relieved somehow.

Benedict’s stare is piercing, watching her every reaction to this new sensation. His thumb dips between her folds to a place she’s never dared to touch.

Eloise moans, soft and breathy, as he draws the slickness he finds up to her clit. Eloise bites her lip in an attempt to stay quiet as he does it again and again. Her hips shift towards him with every circle he draws around the sensitive nub.

Benedict, she notices, is not entirely unaffected either – mouth slightly parted, pupils blown wide with desire, the hand on her thigh clenching just that little bit more as he gives her this.

He swallows and proceeds to utter the most debauched statement Eloise has ever heard. “I should like to kiss you here, sweet sister.”

His eyes are fixed on hers, searching. Eloise knows he won’t deny her whatever pleasure he has planned, so long as she is willing. And, oh is she _willing._

“Please,” she whispers.

He’s moving before she truly has time to register it.

Withdrawing his hands from beneath the layers of fabric, he seizes her ankles, lifting her lower half to spread out along the chaise. And then he’s lifting her skirts, pushing them up, up, up around her waist and gazing upon her most intimate place as though it is the most wonderous thing he has ever seen.

Eloise has never felt more exposed.

Benedict settles himself between her thighs, draping her left leg over his shoulder, her heel digging slightly into his back. She shifts her hips, widening her legs from him, letting her right foot find purchase on the floor.

Her fists have clenched in the fabric pooled at her waist. Ever observant, Benedict notices the white knuckled grip.

“We can do something else if you prefer it,” he says, as though he isn’t staring covetously at the lewd display before him. So earnest, Eloise knows he would put an end to whatever this is the second she asked it of him. But she wants to know where else a man might kiss a woman if not on her lips. Wants to know the feel of his mouth on her, wonders if it will feel as magical as all the other kisses that he has bestowed upon her.

“Kiss me, Benedict,” she pleads.

“Where?” He turns his head to place a kiss against the side of her knee. “Here, perhaps?” He moves further up her thigh. “Or,” he asks, amusement lacing his tone “here?”

“Higher,” she whispers, moving a hand to guide his head towards where she is wet and needy.

His lips brush against her, featherlight. It almost tickles. “Yes,” he muses, hands coming to hold her legs steady, eyes meeting hers, “right here.”

He presses a hot open-mouthed kiss to her exposed cunt and Eloise nearly screams. Her other hand twines itself into his hair as she tries to ground herself.

“Oh!” she gasps as he licks a stripe from her opening to her clit, circling in the pattern she had so enjoyed earlier. When he gives it a little suck, she cannot help but call his name into the space of her bedroom.

Never has she felt anything like this.

Benedict devours her sex as though he is a man starved. Worships at the altar she presents with his lips and his tongue.

She is consumed by the heat of his mouth, the feel of his tongue as he slides it _inside_ her opening.

Every sigh of ecstasy seems to increase his fervour.

She feels like a star collapsing in on itself before a supernova, a string pulled taught as she races towards the precipice of a pleasurable unknown.

Benedict slowly pushes a finger inside her, almost automatically, she clenches down around it. Nothing has ever felt so heavenly, until he begins to thrust it in and out. She’s wet enough that after a while he easily adds another, crooking them inside her to reach something that finally tips her over the edge.

That string within her snaps. She thinks of a supernova, a celestial explosion, as pleasure races through her body, radiating from where her brother’s mouth still sups upon her sweet little cunt. She curls around him as she rides out her high.

Eventually he pulls his fingers from her, places the lightest of kisses upon her oversensitive clit, and moves from the cradle of her thighs.

She gives him a shy little smile which he returns before leaning up to kiss her.

At first, she wants to recoil at the taste of herself on his lips, such an act is surely too crude – what kind of _lady_ would dare? She manages to resist the urge. Instead, she eagerly nips at his lips, licks into his mouth, filthy and open, craving the strange tang that is uniquely _her_.

They kiss until she is truly breathless, forced to pull away panting.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” Benedict teases.

Eloise gives his shoulder a little shove, embarrassed now to think back on how wanton she has been.

“You know,” she muses, “I am not _entirely_ certain.” She pauses to watch his expression fall just the tiniest bit. “You might have to do it again,” she says with extreme seriousness. Almost. Her lips twitch, unable to contain the laughter that threatens to burst forth and he catches the way her own body betrays her.

“Eloise,” he growls and moves to bite playfully at her neck. Her delight echoes off the walls and soon he ceases his attack to meet her eyes. His gaze is so tender Eloise feels her breath hitch, feels her smile soften to match the one that now spreads across his own face. Her fingers move of their own accord to trace the curve of his lips.

“It was truly special, Benedict.” He presses a kiss to her fingertips. “Thank you.”

* * *

The carriage ride back from the opera is filled with heated glances in between their usual banter.

Eloise wants to kneel between Benedict’s legs and sincerely thank him for rescuing her from what would certainly have been a miserable evening. Wants to undo the laces of his breeches and take his length into her mouth as she has done so many times now. Wants to make him fall apart as she licks and sucks at his cock the way he has taught her. Feel his fingers tug at her hair, feel him spend down her throat.

She wants to taste him, hear him let out the soft moans she loves so much, wants to ruin him.

Alas, such an act would be foolish on her part. To give in to desire now would threaten to destroy all that they have, all that they are. Eloise is content to keep their secret – would keep it forever – if they could only be allowed to love each other freely.

And so, sensible as they are, the siblings remain on opposite sides as the carriage trundles down the streets towards the Bridgerton residence.

The lights are dimmed and the entryway devoid of any staff as they set foot inside the house. His hand rests lightly at the small of her back, warm and solid, as he guides her up the stairs and towards her room.

A good brother would simply escort her to the doorway.

Bid her goodnight.

Leave.

Benedict, as he has proven every time that he has taken his little sister, is not that kind of brother.

Once the door is locked a strange sort of tension fills the room. It’s almost too quiet as the siblings look at one another. Something feels different between them, a shift in their relationship yet to fully reveal itself, a deeper love than either can comprehend. And _oh_ , how they ache for one another, long to come together as two halves of a whole love.

Eloise shrugs off her shawl, throwing it carelessly to the floor, eager to have him. Her gloves follow. Benedict watches from his post by the door as she painstakingly removes the tiara and little yellow blossoms from her hair. Content to watch her struggles with a peculiar look on his face that she cannot name.

“Well?” she says, tearing out the final pin and some stubborn hair, and the strangeness dissipates as she reminds him: “We don’t have all night.” But how they wish they did.

This seems to spur Benedict into action, and he tugs off his own gloves, neatly placing them on a little table by the door. As he approaches, Eloise cannot help but be entranced by his nimble fingers loosening his cravat. Watches its path as he drops it to the floor. Flicks her eyes up to the sliver of skin now revealed to her.

He crosses the room to stop before her and Eloise notices his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her chest. Benedict reaches out to trail a finger along the diamond necklace their mother had gifted her for the evening, down to the edge of her gown where a hint of cleavage peeks out.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” he says, meeting her eyes. Eloise thinks he might be blushing.

“You don’t have to say that just because I’ve lowered my hem and my neckline, Benedict,” she scoffs.

His other hand comes up to brush at the tendrils of her fringe. “I always think you look beautiful, El.”

She can’t face the sincerity of his statement, delivered so lovingly she wants to cry. Eloise knows that she is not as beautiful as Daphne, despite her best efforts not to, she will always compare herself to her _perfect_ sister. And now, to have Benedict say those words, it means more than he will ever know. Tears prick at her eyes and before she can do something truly embarrassing like crying in front of her brother, she surges up to kiss him. Pressing herself against him.

It is desperate, hungry, and she gasps into his mouth at the feel of his growing erection through all the layers of fabric that separate them. Cannot help but rub fruitlessly against him in some small attempt to ease the ache in her core.

Eloise wants him now, patience be damned.

Benedict has other plans.

He slows the kiss, pulling back to whisper that they have all the time in the world. Another pretty lie that they like to tell themselves. He spins her around to face the bed and begins the arduous task of stripping her.

Her dress falls to the floor and she kicks it to the side – along with her shoes – an afterthought to be dealt with later.

She tilts her head, baring her neck as he begins to press gentle kisses there while undoing the seemingly endless eyelets and buttons on her petticoat. He bites down hard on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, eliciting a soft moan before he soothes the spot with his tongue. She knows any mark he leaves will have faded come morning – they are always so careful not to mark each other where anyone else may see, so practised in their claiming.

He presses up against her backside, runs his hands over her corseted chest, drifts a hand down to press against her most sensitive parts before pulling back to unlace her corset.

By the time he finally pulls off her slip she is near breathless with anticipation. She makes to turn to him, but he stills her, mouth back on her neck, trailing kisses across her shoulder blades.

He lets out a little noise of surprise when his hands move to her hips only to find she has forgone any form of undergarments.

“Eloise,” he almost sounds scandalised, but she can hear the humour underneath, “how inappropriate of you.” He punctuates his sentence with a little nip to her ear, just above the diamond earrings she had worn for tonight’s occasion.

Eloise finds the way his hands move across her bare stomach erotic enough to make her shiver. He lazily reaches down to toy with her clit, lightly rubbing tiny circles in a way that is not quite enough to satisfy, that leaves her craving more. His other hand finds her breast, pinches at her nipple, rolls it between his fingers. She arches back towards him, presses herself against the hardness she finds. Smirks when he groans.

She turns in his arms, loves the feel of his clothed body against her naked one.

“Right,” he says. And it’s all the warning she gets before he slips his hands under her thighs and hoists her up around his waist. Her little shriek is almost too loud in the room and they both pause for one heart stopping moment, waiting for a sign that they have been heard. There is no movement, no calling, nothing beyond this room and the two of them entwined in all the ways brother and sister should never be.

Steadying herself, arms around his shoulders, Eloise leans in to kiss along his jaw, the faintest hint of stubble beneath her lips. She returns his affections from earlier, biting down on the softness of his bared throat as he walks them towards her bed.

Every red and purple bloom on his neck is a mark of her devotion, her desire, her want to be remembered. She knows that there will be no consequence should these love bites be seen.

Unceremoniously he drops her to the bed and gives a crooked grin at her squawk of indignation.

She sits back to watch as he strips off his formalwear, so many layers, _too many_ , she thinks. He neglects to remove his trousers.

He kneels at the edge of the bed and looms over her, yet before he can do anything more, Eloise stops him with a stocking clad foot against his chest.

“Benedict,” she says, “I think perhaps you are still wearing far too much.”

“Is that so?” he questions, fingering the edge of her stocking where it has already started to slip.

“It is.” She tilts her head back haughtily and he lets out a huff of amusement at her antics.

“Very well,” he sighs. Leaning back to untie his trousers and managing to take her stocking with him as he goes. She quietly pulls off the other stocking and rearranges herself against the pillows to watch.

Eloise thinks she will never tire of seeing his cock, his thick length hard and ready because of _her_. He takes himself in hand and gives a few lazy strokes.

Her fantasy from the carriage comes back to her and she crawls the edge of the bed, reaching out to grasp his hardness.

“I should like,” she teases, an echo of an act so long ago, “to kiss you here, brother dearest.”

A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he replies. “Please.”

She moves closer and presses a delicate kiss to the head of his cock. Licks a hot stripe up the underside of his shaft that has him burying his hands in her hair. She looks up at him just before she sucks the tip into her mouth, relishing the little moans he tries so hard to supress.

Steadily she pumps his length, focusing her attentions on his leaking slit, tongue flicking back and forth.

“Stop teasing,” he grits out.

She pauses in her little kitten licks to the soft head of his cock to throw him a look she imagines is seductive – it must be, judging by the way he closes his eyes and lets out a strangled sigh.

Then she swallows him down as far as her throat will allow, hollows out her cheeks and _sucks_. Knows just the way to bring Benedict to the edge, twisting her fist around him on the upstroke, tracing the thick vein along his length, cupping his balls with her free hand. She knows how close he must be judging by the way he’s starting to thrust into her mouth, all the little moans he lets out, the hitch in his breath, restraint ebbing away.

“Yes, El. Just like that.” He swipes a thumb delicately over her cheekbone.

It makes her pussy throb, to see him so undone, and she cannot resist slipping a hand down over her little thatch of curls to rub at the swollen pearl beneath.

Their coupling will be over too soon if she lets him peak now.

She pulls off him, a slick trail of saliva dripping off her tongue as she flicks her gaze up to his face.

His expression is one of pure bliss, head tilted back, relaxed, all the lines that hint at the decade between them swept from his face.

Languidly she continues to stroke his length and waits for him to realise that she’ll not be putting her mouth on him again. A confused little pout adorns his face as he opens his eyes to look down at her, understanding dawning.

“Oh, you absolute tease.” He complains.

Mouth open in a little ‘o’ of mock scandal she throws herself back against the pillows, laughing as he pounces towards her.

“Come here.” A wolfish grin spreads across his face as he grips an ankle, pulling her underneath him. Suddenly they are face to face and all teasing has fled in the wake of the yearning that comes to linger in the space between them. No space at all, really, as Eloise leans up to press her mouth to his.

Calloused fingers trace a path up her leg to the apex of her thighs where Benedict finds her dripping for him. She whimpers into his mouth, tongue tracing his lower lip, licking against his teeth, twining with his own.

The messy squelch as he pumps two fingers in and out of her tight heat seems to make her even wetter. Eloise loves how wet her brother can make her.

He adds a third finger and the stretch is almost too much. His thumb flicks at her clit.

“Benedict please,” she whines, “I need you inside me. I’m so close. Please.”

Blindly she reaches for his cock, wants to guide it inside her. Wants to be full, can’t stand the emptiness a moment longer.

Still, he denies her satisfaction.

“Patience, Eloise.” Chastising.

A little huff of frustration escapes her. He is so _cruel_. Serene where she is impatient. Calm where she is chaos. In her hand when he should be inside her cunt.

Her hips thrust against his fingers where they have stilled inside her, she’s so close now she can feel the tell-tale tingling, the tightening that precedes the most exquisite release. She’s there. Feels her walls begin to flutter.

And then –

Benedict takes his fingers away, sucking her sweet nectar into his mouth with a selfish hum.

Eloise glares at him, mouth swollen, neck bitten, breasts heaving, half ruined on her bedcover wearing only diamonds. The very picture of debauched.

She watches, entranced as he pulls his fingers from his mouth and trails them up her stomach. As he draws a lazy spit-slick path around her pert little nipples. One, then the other.

Perhaps this is revenge for her teasing earlier.

Perhaps Benedict just enjoys tormenting her.

She gasps when he pinches her nipple before leaning over to sooth the sting of it with his mouth. Laving kisses across her breasts the way he’s been dying to do all night since he first saw her in that floral low-cut dress.

“Brother, please.”

Finally, _finally_ he shifts closer, slotting himself just where he belongs between her spread thighs and when she guides his silken length into her waiting cunt it feels like coming home.

Their moans echo in the night and Benedict moves to kiss her fiercely. It’s sloppy and desperate and deplorable.

Eagerly she thrusts her hips up to meet his, relishing the fullness, the soothing of the ache in her loins that only he can cause. His every thrust is slow – _too slow_ – Eloise is tired of waiting; she wants it fast and hot and _filthy_.

“Faster,” she pleads, wrapping her arms around his neck. Scraping her nails down his back. It has the desired effect; he stops holding back.

Benedict hitches her right leg around his waist, grounding himself with a near painful grip on her thigh. She loves it.

“Touch yourself,” he orders.

Eloise slips a hand between them to play with her clit, rubbing furious tight circles that will surely have her falling apart in seconds.

She wraps her other leg around him, locking her ankles and shifting her legs as high up his back as she can manage, wants to feel him deep. Knows he can never last long like this.

“So good, Benedict,” she pants against the shell of his ear. “So good.”

He grunts in response, snapping his hips in a punishing pace.

“That’s it, El. You’re doing so well taking me like this.”

She babbles a string of incoherent praise for her brother as her cunt flutters around his length, clenches in pleasure and she comes with shriek muffled into the crook of his neck.

He gives her a moment to bask in the afterglow before extracting himself from the cage of her legs. He flips her over, presses her legs together, settles his thighs on either side of her own, and slides back into her still quivering heat.

Eloise lets out a little noise of surprise.

They have never done it like _this_.

“Keep touching yourself,” he insists.

Eloise works a hand underneath herself, to slowly rub at her oversensitive clit.

Benedict places his hands on the small of her back to keep her steady as he rails into her. She can hardly move to meet his thrusts, and everything feels _so_ tight at this angle. She worries that he will slip out of her she’s so wet – for she so hates feeling bereft of his cock in the heat of the moment.

The noises he makes above her are _obscene_. Normally, Benedict has some semblance of control whenever they fuck but now – now it’s as though he has completely given himself over to the way she feels around him, to the pleasure they share. Eloise loves it. Never wants it to end.

It ends all too soon.

Benedict’s thrusts become even harsher as they grow unsteady, pulling almost all the way out such that it makes her whine at the loss of him, only to fill her so completely as he slams back in.

So forceful is he that Eloise is forced to throw out her free hand against the bedframe, lest she hit her head.

Her other hand works at her clit furiously, it’s so slippery with her juices now and she can feel the brush of his cock against her fingertips as he pounds into her.

One of his hands glides up her sweat slickened back to grip her shoulder, pulling her back onto his cock.

She feels a strange pressure near her lower abdomen and suddenly she is gushing over her hand.

The wail she releases is so loud she instantly slaps a hand over her mouth, mortified at the sound. Still, she continues to touch her pleasure bud, greedy for more. It doesn’t take her long to fall apart around her brother’s cock again.

She buries her head into the feather soft pillows in order to muffle her screamed release.

Shaky and overwhelmed she can only lie there and take it as Benedict’s thrusts begin to truly falter.

“Fuck, Eloise,” Benedict exclaims as her cunt clenches around him once more tonight. “Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling out to spill across her curve of her ass and up her back.

Unceremoniously he collapses, half on top of her. Eloise loves the familiar weight of him. Benedict loosens the grip he has on her shoulder and traces faint patterns on the reddened skin there.

She raises her head from the pillow used to smother her noises, turning to smile at him.

His returning smile is nothing short of heart stopping.

“You,” she says, reaching up a hand to smooth back his hair from his forehead, “are my most favourite brother.”

His laugh is breathless as he replies, “I should bloody hope so, Eloise.”

He leans forward to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder, and follows it with a lingering, barely-there kiss against her lips before pulling back to simply gaze at her.

Eloise hums, content.

They have always been close.

Eloise knows, desperate and true in the wake of all their pleasurable sins, that they will _always_ be close.


End file.
